The Exchange Student
by Skye Rocket
Summary: Fleur's going to Hogwarts! Wheee!


An Exchange Student  
  
By Skye Rocket  
  
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, even though the fourth book is practically my Bible. I am not making and $$ or getting anything free. Do you really care? Nah. Okay...  
  
A/N: I do not know when Hogwarts' school year begins. So ha! I made a date for it to start on. And my story is about Fleur. That's right, Fleur Delacour! Anywho, I am odd, and I happen to like her. That's okay. So anyway, in my story, Fleur is a 3rd year, since Harry is a first year, and she had to be 17 to be in the Triwizard Tournament. So since Harry was a first year four years before that (well, duh), Fleur is a third year. Does thou comprehend?  
  
PS: I chose the year by looking in the front of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" to see the copyright date, and the year was born. Tee hee.   
  
*******  
  
September 1st, 1997  
Dear Journal,  
Greetings to you, journal. Fleur here, as usual. But one thing is different: my life is no longer fair. That's right, all of my ideas about misfortune never coming my way have been dashed away. Why? Have you ever heard of an exchange student program? I hadn't either, until a couple of days ago. It's where I get sent to another school. Apparently, Mother and Daddy decided to enter me into one just for wizards, and they forgot to tell me. If that doesn't take the cake, nothing else will.  
  
And if it couldn't get any worse, I am going to HOGWARTS. HOGWARTS. Imagine it, Journal.   
  
On a lighter note, Gabrielle asked me to tell her the oh-so-well-known story of the night Harry Potter survived being cursed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Even after every child in the wizarding world has heard this story, it never ceases to amaze my dear sweet sister.   
  
I'm supposed to be packing my trunk; but instead I have found numerous ways to avoid this most unwelcome task. I volunteered to wash the breakfast dishes. I joined Mother for tea with one of the annoying neighbor women. I played Wizard's Chess with Gabrielle. Ever since she learned how to play it, she's been begging us all to play her a game or two. And even though the quality of her playing is somewhat lacking, it is somewhat amusing to see her face shining with excitement as she mistakenly shouts "Check!"  
  
I sent many owls to my friends from Beauxbatons, which had appeared to be a good idea at first, but turned out to be a process that moved me to tears. It was then I realized that I was dreading this moment more than anything ever. Of course I had known this before, but I had not thought about the true extent of this terrible apprehension until that moment.  
  
Sitting there with hot tears settled on my cheeks was not pleasant. I hadn't cried in years. I am thirteen, after all. It's not as if I go around like Gabrielle, sobbing over trivial things such as being refused the privilege of staying up later than her usual bedtime and other unimportant things.  
  
And after that, I began to think like my mother (imagine!), and I could actually hear her saying what she had said when her and Daddy told me. She had said "Now, Fleur, I am aware of the fact that you do not think much of this at the moment. But you never know. This could be the adventure of a lifetime! When you return, you'll have dozens of stories to tell us!"  
  
And Daddy chimed in with "I suspect that you'll be begging us to send you back next year by the time this year is over! You'll make loads of friends and you'll probably even meet a couple of nice fellows." It was at this moment I blushed, my pale skin turning a fiery shade of red. 'A couple of nice fellows?' Really, the very thought of a Hogwarts boy and myself. I can't imagine, nor do I want to.  
  
And after we had had our discussion, Mother and Daddy took me to the Alley where all of us Beauxbatons students purchased our supplies. Only this time it was different. We weren't buying the delightful and strikingly charming outfits that signified one of the students that attend my beloved school, we were buying drab uniforms with the crest of my "new home" (so to say).  
  
Luckily, Mother and Daddy ,must have taken some sort of pity on me and bought me an owl. I had never had one before, not of my own anyway. Anytime Mother and Daddy had sent me any kind of letter by way of our faithful old owl, I had kept him for at least two days in order to send out my own owls. But now I finally had one of my own, an owl! She's dark brown with the usual scattering of white spots. Her eyes are an eerie shade of yellow and she has a rather unpleasant habit of bringing dead rodents into my room after she's been out hunting.  
  
Of course this is not all that unusual for an owl such as Harpy (what I have decided to call her), but still, it is extraordinarily disgusting to wake up to find a decapitated rat sitting on your windowsill.   
  
Must go, Mother is calling for me.  
  
Much Love,  
Fleur 


End file.
